


Best Of Chums

by ThatOddNerd



Series: Counting On You [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOddNerd/pseuds/ThatOddNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of my 'Counting On You' series. I decided to extend the series and have another series of one-shots revolving around the friendships in Sherlock because I've been writing a lot of Mary/Molly friendship one-shots and I think that's a sign. It will feature friendships between a wide range of characters. Some you'll see coming, some you might not see coming at all. We'll see. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Molly Hooper's Super Wild WTF Hen Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly Hooper (Soon to be Hooper-Holmes.) let her best friend Mary Watson handle her hen night. Now she's kind of wishing she hadn't....

* * *

 

Molly knew quite a bit about Mary by now. She'd even been told things that John didn't know about the woman's past, which was oddly touching in a sense. Molly knew that Mary had many sides to her personality, and that she was full of surprises. The things that woman did hardly surprised her anymore. 

Except this. 

Nope, Molly Catherine Hooper (Soon to be Hooper-Holmes.) most certainly did not see  _this_ coming at all when Mary begged her to let her organize her hen night. Although to be fair, Molly supposed she should have seen this coming. After all, hen nights were supposed to be a bit...wild, weren't they? 

But this? 

"Oh my god." Molly winced when she heard the voice through the bars. Bollocks. He had to be the one to be called in for this. Why couldn't it have been someone else? Did Greg never sleep? She thought he'd found a new girlfriend. He'd checked the plus one box on his RSVP to the wedding. Why the hell wasn't he with her?

"Don't say it." Molly snapped from where she was sitting on the bench, Mary still fast asleep next to her.

"How the hell did this happen again? Is this just some cosmic combination where a Holmes and a Watson get together to celebrate impending nuptials and end up getting jailed? Because if so , I should introduce a code just for your families." He was enjoying this way too much.

"I'm not a Holmes." Molly quipped. 

"You're not a Holmes  _yet_ but you will be in a few days." Molly wished she could smack that grin right off her friend's face, but figured it probably wouldn't be the greatest idea to hit a police officer, let alone a chief detective, in a holding cell at New Scotland Yard, no matter how much he deserved it. 

"S'going on?" Oh _now_ Mary was awake. Lovely.

"Greg's here to bail us out. Let's go." Molly replied, getting up and ignoring the creak of her stiff muscles. 

"What about Harriet and Melisa?" Mary asked, suddenly very aware.

"SHIT! I knew it felt like someone was missing." Molly exclaimed, looking in the other cell for the other two women and seeing no one. 

"You two were the only ones brought in." Greg offered, signing a sheet and handing it over to the officer in charge of the cells. 

"Oh those bitches bailed on us. Weak." Mary mourned, rubbing her temples. 

"After all we did for them too." Molly agreed, horrified. "I might smack one of them when I see them."

"Not both?" Mary asked. 

"Not enough energy." Molly mumbled. 

"So..." Greg began as they climbed into the cab that he had waiting outside. "You two want to tell me why you were caught sneaking into Buckingham Palace with three bags of silly string, streamers, and a sign that says 'I Shall Not Shave For The Queen.'?" 

"Okay, in our defence, there were two other people with us and it was one of those peoples' ideas. As for why the sign says what it does, I have no bloody idea." Molly said through her headache. 

"As for the silly string and streamers that may have been my addition." Mary admitted. "Although why I suggested it I don't know." 

"John told me you had planned a hen party at a pub in central London. How the hell did you go from that to Buckingham Palace?" 

"Oh...shit." Molly's eyes widened with realization. " Harry kind of....dared everyone to do a bunch of drop shots..."

"Ohhh right. She even dared the man I hired to strip. That was fun." Mary quipped, making Greg blush. "Oh come off it, men have female strippers at stag parties. Women can have male strippers at hen parties." 

"Greg...have you ...told the boys about what happened?" Molly asked, suddenly wide awake.

"Mols, they told me. Apparently you used a call at the drunk tank to ring up Sherlock and tell him you and Mary had been nicked sneaking into Buckingham Palace by red and black feather dusters." That sent Mary into a fit of giggles and made Molly blush. 

"I'm never going to live this down." Molly groaned as they pulled up to 221 Baker Street. 

"No," Greg said, smiling "I daresay you won't." 

 


	2. Those Things Will Kill You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the British government (Read: Mycroft Holmes), asks...no...tells, you to make one Sherlock Holmes stop smoking otherwise they'll have your car towed, what exactly are you supposed to do?

* * *

 

Greg Lestrade was pissed. 

Well he was always pissed these days. Things weren't going well with his wife and he had a suspicion she was having an affair, but that was actually the least of his problems at the moment. No. Right now, Greg was pissed at himself. Pissed for ever agreeing to let Sherlock Holmes, who'd been petitioning New Scotland Yard to become a consultant for a long time, become a consultant in the first place. Because that meant, by default apparently, that he had to deal with Sherlock's equally if not more so, dramatic older brother Mycroft. 

Now don't get him wrong. Usually Greg got along with the tall, admittedly off, man, but there were some times, especially when he came to NSY to discuss his brother (For he occasionally came there to discuss a case and ask that Lestrade 'forget' a certain money laundering case or something similar, run by a certain person of interest.), that Greg found the man to be rather infuriating. As he was to find out, Mycroft was rather single minded when it came to his little brother. While at first Greg believed that Holmes the elder actually hated his brother, and was constantly checking up on him and ordering him to be followed by secret agents whom even Greg had to admit were shit at blending in with the crowd, to be an asshole and annoy, he was quick to find out it was the opposite. Mycroft did care about his little brother. Quite a lot actually. Sherlock's rather colorful past, that is to say, his multiple arrests, as well as a few drug charges and at least three stints in rehab, kept his brother on edge. 

Now, apparently Sherlock had taken up smoking once again, and that was something his brother did not like. 

"It's a gateway you see." He'd said to him earlier. "And a sign. He always starts with smoking and then he ends up in a crack den with a bunch of other ...people, and either I or one of your ...fine policemen or women have to go take him out of there. I'd rather not. He's done this twice already." 

So now here he was, outside the building of Sherlock's current flat on Gloucester Road, hating his job. How the hell did Mycroft expect him to get Sherlock to stop smoking? If he couldn't do it, and he was Sherlock's brother, how the _fuck_ was he supposed to? His fist hadn't even reached the door to knock when it swung open, revealing a very young and very irked Sherlock Holmes.

"Let me guess, my brother sent you." It wasn't a question but a comment. He turned around and strode back down the hallway, leaving the door wide open. Greg walked in after him and closed the door. He wasn't entirely sure how it was he imagined Sherlock's living space to appear, but it certainly was not this. He _had_ imagined that the place would be pristine. Nothing out of place, with sparse decoration and uptight, high end furniture. Sherlock's constant need for order and silence while at crime scenes had given Greg the impression that he needed order everywhere, so seeing what he did shocked him. The place was a mess. Clutter everywhere. Books, magazines, journals, newspapers, and other such periodicals were strewn about anywhere there was a remotely flat or clean surface. There were shirts, jackets, scarves, and other articles of clothing strewn about, as well, and a multitude of what could only really be referred to as nick-knacks. As well as...

"Good god, Sherlock is that a skull?!" Greg shouted, staring at the offending piece on the mantle above the fireplace. 

" Yes. Friend of mine." Sherlock replied as if it were a matter of fact. Nothing weird. 

"A..."

"It's a long story. I didn't kill them if that's what you're wondering." 

"Well..." 

"So. My brother sent you yes? What did he threaten to do if you didn't get me to stop smoking?" 

"Impound my car and take my license." 

"Wanker." Sherlock sat down on a chair in the kitchen, and Greg followed into the room. 

"Is that a chemistry set?" Greg asked, eying the marble island strewn with beakers, butane lighters, and other such things.

" Yes. I have to do my experiments somewhere. Might as well be here." 

"So..." Greg began, as Sherlock lit another cigarette. 

"Yes yes, make your case for why I should stop. Tell me it's bad for me. Will wreck my lungs. Stunt my growth." He said the last bit with a smirk. He was hardly short and they both were well aware of this. 

"Those things will kill you." Greg commented. "Eventually." 

"I know." 

"Alright how about I make you a deal?" Greg said finally, after they had sat there for what was surely ten solid minutes without saying a word. "A deal having to do with cases."

"I'm listening." Sherlock was looking at him with a startling intensity. 

"If you stop smoking, I will put you on my speed dial, tell the whole of NSY to give you leeway on cases and let you through the tape, and give you an i.d. badge for the station so you can stop having to sign in every time." Sherlock stared at him as he contemplated the offer. After a few minutes Sherlock got up and put out the cigarette, before handing Greg the pack he had stashed in the kitchen.

"We have a deal Graham."

"Greg. My name is Greg."

"Whatever." 


	3. Dear Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is smirking, Molly is confused, Mary is trying not to laugh, baby Amanda just gurgles because she's, well, a baby, and Sherlock is seething.

* * *

Dr. Molly Hooper was a very intelligent person, even Sherlock Holmes has admitted to this. She got medical degree at a young age and went to work for Bart's right after graduating. She was top of her class and excelled in her field, and was even up for several awards. Point is, Molly is not dimwitted, but at this moment, she couldn't be more confused. 

John was at her flat with Mary and baby Amanda, to have tea and catch up since they had all been rather busy lately. She'd moved into a new one, closer to Bart's and bigger due to the rather substantial pay increase that came with her somewhat surprising promotion that occurred after the latest incident with criminals. (She suspected...no, she knew, it had to be Mycroft's influence, but when she called to ask him about it he simply said "Why Dr. Hooper, I do not know what you are referring to. Congratulations though." and could have sworn she heard Mrs. Holmes in the back saying "Oh is that young Molly? Hello Molly dear! You must come for tea some da.." and then the silence of an ended call.) Sherlock arriving shortly after the Watsons wasn't exactly a surprise. Nor was his unconventional way of arriving. ("Through the bloody window Sherlock?! The window?! I'm on the fifth floor! You scared Amanda! I have a door you know! You have a key! You got it illegally sure, but you still have it. So why the damn window Sherlock? Why?" Molly asked with the patience of a saint. The fact that he simply shrugged made her want to hit him over the head with a frying pan.) What did surprise her was his reason for coming over. 

"I'm sorry, you want John to give you back your what?" Molly asked again, still sitting next to Mary and a gurgling Amanda, who was making her way over to Molly and slowly pulling herself up with help from Molly's jumper.

Sherlock said nothing, John smirked, and Mary rolled her eyes. Amanda cared for none of this, as it meant no one was paying attention to her, so she yanked at Molly's now shoulder length hair.

"Ow! Oh, hello there Amanda, come here then." Molly said absentmindedly, taking the baby from Mary's careful grasp and putting her on her knees. "Sorry, Sherlock, you'll have to repeat that, what is it John took from you?" 

"It's...something of importance, that I need greatly and do not know how John acquired it but I want it back." Sherlock muttered. Molly's eyebrows raised, as did Mary's. Amanda fiddled with the necklace Molly was wearing. John was still smirking, Sherlock wouldn't look anyone in the eyes. 

"Oh but Sherlock, that could apply to so many things. It could mean the skull, the scarf. Your favorite chemistry book, that pair of gloves you love so much. Your lighter, your phone, so many things." John replied cheekily. Sherlock turned his head up and glared at his best friend, who was loving this situation a little too much in his opinion. 

"Hilarious John. You know exactly what it is. Now give it back." 

"Ask politely." John was loving this, he really was. This was the most enjoyable thing he's experienced in a long time, coming second only to seeing his daughter for the first time. 

"No." 

"Now Sherlock, what kind of example are you setting for your goddaughter? Say please." Mary commented, her smirk now matching her husband's. 

"Ah, so you're in on this to are you?" Sherlock turned his glare to the assassin who simply shrugged and reached  for her cup of tea on the table. 

"No, not really. I just like to hear you say please and thank you. It brings me joy." Mary replied, sipping her tea and avoiding looking right at him. 

"Hilarious." Sherlock snarled.

"I thought so." 

"John, will you please give me ...it back?" Sherlock turned his eyes back to his friend before him, still quite amused by the current situation.

"Oh that was lovely Sherlock, I'm so proud of you. So is little Amanda." Mary chimed in, still smirking. Sherlock turned his head slightly towards her, giving her a fake, sarcastic smile, before once again turning back to his friend.

"So?"

"Oh, I would love to mate, but see, the thing is, I don't have it." John sat back in the armchair he was occupying, arms crossed and face brimming with joy over seeing his friend so uncomfortable.

"What do you mean you don't have it?" 

" I mean that it is not currently in my possession mate. Molly, could you pass me the plate of...chocolate digestives, lovely. Thank you." John nodded and smiled at Molly, who smiled back. "So you're out of luck I'm afraid."

"Mary then..." Sherlock turned to the blonde, now entertaining her daughter with a game of peek-a-boo, and didn't stop when she answered.

"Sherlock, John and I met here separately. I had to pick up new clothes for Amanda, and John had to do something at the clinic after he left your flat earlier. Molly, did you see John give me anything other than a hug, kiss, and 'Did you remember to get the new socks?' ?" 

"Well no, no I don't think he did anything other than that. Besides kiss Amanda on the head and ask me if I still had chocolate biscuits." Molly replied, now catching on to the game, even though she didn't understand all of it. 

"Which she already had on the table, bless her she knows me so well now." John commented, smiling at his friend. 

"Molly then..." 

"Sherlock, I don't even know what was taken and that is the honest truth." Molly claimed, and Sherlock believed her. "It's just funny to see you sweat." 

"Yes, clearly it is an attribute that everyone I hold dear seems to share." Mary stopped what she was doing and smiled up at Sherlock, who begrudgingly smiled back. He'd gotten better at expressing his emotions and she was proud of him. Molly couldn't help the slight blush that comment, which she assumed included herself, created. 

"It's not here mate, really." John insisted after a silence. "I don't have it. Mary doesn't have it. Molly doesn't have it. Amanda doesn't have it. None of us have it. It. Isn't. Here." 

"Then where is it?" Sherlock exclaimed, finally  entirely fed up. 

"Oh, I may have...went to the post office on my way here. It's just down the street..." John began, loving the wide eyed look his friend had just acquired. 

"You didn't." 

"Oh but I did." 

"Which one?" 

"It's not like I sent it to any of your enemies Sherlock." 

"Which. One?" 

"Just know you'll be receiving a call from your mum in about four days asking about certain events in your childhood and life in general." John wished he could capture this moment forever, not just on a photo but this moment itself so he could relive the look of pure horror on his friend's face.

"How...how could you..."

"You left it right there Sherlock. It was a bit too much to resist." John wasn't even trying to hide how happy he was at that moment, not at all. 

"Did you...how much did you read?" 

"Oh, just the last few filled out pages." John took Amanda from Molly, who smiled gratefully and grabbed her cup of tea from the table. Sherlock slumped, actually slumped, deep down the chair he was sitting in, as John bounced Amanda on his knee. "After all, who could resist reading a bit of the diary of Sherlock Holmes?" 

 

The End.

 


	4. What Would You Do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You've been in this position before Mr. Holmes. I seem to remember you handling it quite well." 
> 
> "Things have changed since then." 
> 
> "Indeed they have Mr. Holmes, indeed they have."

* * *

 

"You've been in this position before Mr. Holmes. I seem to remember you handling it quite well."

"Things have changed since then."

"Indeed they have Mr. Holmes, indeed they have."

None of them flinched, he noticed, as he looked at their faces separately. Not Lestrade, not John, not Mary, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, not even Molly. Each of them with a pistol to their heads, and not one of them were flinching in the slightest. If anything, they looked bored. Sherlock would have laughed if the situation wasn't so serious. Mary, Lestrade, and John were all working out ways to get the guns from their captor's hands, he could tell from the looks on their faces. Mycroft was planning whatever hell he was planning to bring down on these people who were holding them captive, if they lived. Mrs. Hudson was surely going through a list of mafia contacts in her head, and Molly was deciding which one of them she'd like to do an autopsy on the most. How they were remaining so calm was, to Sherlock in this moment, beyond him. For once, the people around him were calm, and Sherlock was nervous. Not for himself, but for them. The people he cared about, the people he loved. His family. He'd gladly give himself up for them, and it was looking like that might end up being his only option. 

Sentiment. He could almost laugh once more.

What was it with criminals and forcing him to sacrifice himself for his loved ones anyway? This was getting old. 

"Shut up." Sherlock snapped, looking at his brother.

"I said nothing, brother mine." Mycroft replied, his face plastered with a look of faux innocence. 

"I can hear you thinking it." Mycroft just smirked, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Such language Mr. Holmes, and to your brother none the less." Sherlock hadn't seen this particular foe for years, her having evaded even him during the chase at the climax of the case several years earlier. 

"You've heard it before Henrietta." Henrietta smirked at him, the gun she'd been pointing at his head dropped a bit and she sat back in her chair, a loud, cackling laugh erupting from her.

"True Mr. Holmes, very true." She looked from him to the hostages across the room, considering the options before her. "She still hasn't taken up the habit of carrying a gun? Even after last time?" Henrietta asked, using her own gun to wave briefly at Molly. 

"No, Dr. Hooper is not one for guns." Sherlock replied. He looked over at Molly and she just shrugged.

"Not my thing." She sniffed in indignation. "I prefer a sharp scalpel." Another laugh from Henrietta.

"Dr. Hooper's gotten feisty in the last five years. I'm impressed."

"She's always been that way Ms. Peters, you just haven't gotten the privilege of experiencing it." Even Sherlock was surprised by his retort towards the woman, who herself was fairly shocked. 

"And now I see you go about with one of the most feared assassins in the world." Henrietta was looking at Mary now, who looked back at her, eyes judgemental in the way only Mary knew how. 

"Retired." Mary muttered under her breath. "Retired assassin." 

"Retired. Sorry." Henrietta acquiesced.

"Can we speed this along Ms. Peter? I have a meeting in France to attend in ..." Mycroft checked his watch and sighed. "Four hours, lovely."

"You don't seem to appreciate the situation you are in Mr. Holmes. You might not be making it to that meeting."

"Not at this rate. You take forever to get to the point."

"Still an ass I see. Some things never change." Henrietta got up from her chair and stretched her limbs, circling the table she'd been sitting at across from Sherlock, and walking over to him. "Well Mr. Holmes, have you thought over my little offer?"

"Indeed I have." His heart was racing, why was his heart racing? Was it that the guns were being pressed just a little too hard at the temples of the people at the other end of the room? That from where he was, it would be easy for Peter to shoot him without him having the chance to deflect? Was it the memory of a very similar situation they'd been in years before, during the Carfax case? The case where the deaths of three people he cared about a great deal came too close for even his own comfort? It had been knives instead of guns, and an abandoned warehouse instead of the ballroom of an old mansion in the middle of no where. Three people instead of six. 

"And, Mr. Holmes? What do you say?" 

"I still won't tell you were the daughters are." Straight to the point. He'd never tell her where Carfax's daughters had been hidden away to and he never would. 

"Pity." Henrietta hopped down from the table and walked over to the others, studying each of them in turn, deciding something. "So, who shall go first?" She turned back to Sherlock, hands on hips, face determines. "Will it be your dear, dear brother? Or your best friend John? Or your other close friend, our dear assassin, Mary?" 

"Retired." Mary quipped. Henrietta scowled at her. 

" What about Detective Lestrade, your dear friend, and dare I say, life saver? It was him who got you to stop smoking wasn't it? At the rate you'd been going at those things would have killed you ages ago." She turned towards Molly and studied her critically, then looked over her shoulder at Sherlock, back to Molly. "Or should it be your other life saver? And, if I have been reading you correctly over the years, which I have, the woman you love?" Sherlock tried not to convey anything in his posture, but he must have because her eyes lit up in malice and joy. "Ah. Dr. Hooper it is." 

What happened next was almost unreal, and it happened so quickly even Sherlock wasn't entirely sure how it all had played out in the end.

Mary fainted, or appeared to, and John, being the doting husband he was, risked the gun to run to her. Lestrade saw it for what it was, a distraction. He elbowed his guard, took the gun, Mary, fully conscious, stuck a knife into one guard's ankle, while John took the gun from another. Mycroft took an elbow to another's gut too, and Molly...

When did Molly learn _that_ move? Less then a second and her guard was on the floor, his gun in her hand, her other arm around Henrietta's throat, tight.

"Drop it." she hissed into her ear. "Drop it or I put a bullet in your brain you sick, sick bitch. Don't think I won't either. I've wanted to since the first round years before. How could you murder that poor innocent woman? And those children...you didn't get to her daughters but the orphans? What kind of sick little..."

"Molly!" Sherlock stepped carefully towards the two of them, hands up, cautious, looking rather scared himself. He'd only seen her like this two other times, and neither time did it end well. "Molly, it's over. She's going to jail for the rest of her life. She'll never get out. It's over. Give me the gun Molly." Molly didn't take her eyes off the woman she had in hold, then glanced sideways at Sherlock, now a foot or two away, his eyes filled with fear. 

"I'll let go of mine if she hands over yours." Molly said, her voice scaringly unwavering. 

"Alright, alright." Sherlock took the gun from Henrietta's grasp, scowling at her. "Lestrade, please come cuff Ms. Peter here please." 

"With what? I don't have cuffs on me, they took me from my bloody house in the middle of the night." Sherlock pointed at a cup of cable ties used as handcuffs. By the time Henrietta and her gang were cuffed and back up was called, almost five minutes later, Molly was still standing in the same spot, holding the gun and shaking. 

"Molly?" Sherlock approached cautiously once again, slowly taking the gun away from her. "Molly?"

"All those children Sherlock." Molly's voice was starting to waver now. "All those children, there, on the table before me, one by one, in the morgue. I..."

"I know Molly, I know." Sherlock drew her into his arms, where she stiffened up before relaxing, putting her head on his left shoulder.

"But you don't." She replied weakly. "You don't because you've never had to...had to do an autopsy on a child Sherlock. A child. I..." 

"It's over now Molly. She'll be locked up forever." 

"Yes, but there are other people out there...other sick minded people like her and it...I..."

"It'll be alright, I'll be there with you. As someone alive to know is in the room with you." 

"Yeah, alright." They stood there in silence before Molly looked up at him. "Hey, Sherlock, can I ask you something? About the last time...when she took me, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft..." 

"Yes?" 

"She stabbed you. It was a pretty bad wound, you nearly died." 

"Yes, I remember, I was there." Molly glared at him. "Sorry." 

"The only way she could have gotten close enough to get you where she did was if you let her." 

"I did."

"You did? You let her stab you? Why?" 

"She asked me what I would do."

"What you would do?" 

"To save the people I loved. She asked me what I would do." Sherlock said it so nonchalantly, Molly couldn't help the shocked expression on her face. "What?" 

"I thought you believed back then that love and sentiment were weaknesses." 

"They were." 

"Then why..." 

"I didn't want to risk you three again, so I started saying these awful things. About all of you, and her. I criticized her techniques, her timing, told her she took all the wrong people, there wasn't anyone I cared about enough to give up the information. I told her she was sloppy... and finally she got so angry she stabbed me, muttered something about all of it not being worth her time, and ran." 

"You've cared that long? Sherlock that was over five years ago." 

"I know."

"Way before John." 

"I know." 

"Then why were you..."

"Such an insufferable ass? Well, because I am an insufferable ass, and it's a hard habit to break. Plus, I think I was unconsciously trying to keep the people I cared about away. In case that happened again, anything like it." 

"It did though." Molly was smiling now. 

"I know it did." 

"You're rotten at it Sherlock." 

"Apparently." 

"Worked for me though. I didn't even get a sniper from the whole Fall thing. Kind of insulted."

"Yes you did." Sherlock started to walk away, lacing his fingers with hers. She stopped him. "We should really leave Molly, we..."

"No, what do you mean I did? There weren't anymore snipers Sherlock. You said it yourself that Moriarty's downfall was underestimating me and my importance to you, so what do you mean I had a sniper?" 

"There was this one sniper who was killed, a bit before the Fall..." 

"Yeah, I did the autopsy, what of it? I thought we concluded he was for you or something. As a fail safe." 

"After much deliberation, I realized he was meant for you." They'd started walking again, although Molly was still puzzled. " Although I still do believe Moriarty underestimated you. He didn't bother to find a replacement." 

"Did you think of this when...?" 

"When I asked you for your help? Yes of course." 

"And so that crazy amount of security I had after..."

"After I left was arranged for you because I had my suspicions. Yes." 

"Why..."

"Henrietta Peter, or 'The Holy Angel' as her nom de plume goes, may be crazy but she asked the right question to put me in such a situation. There isn't a whole lot I wouldn't do for the people I love." 

 

The End.

 


End file.
